C i N d E r
by BuRsT oF iRiDeScEnT
Summary: Just another Cinderella story...only with a dark twist. Where does a cutter find her Prince Charming? And where does a drug addict find his Princess? The answer is not a castle, but a mental hospital. Annabeth doesn't beileve in a fairy tale ending, especially with arms like hers. Can a green eyed drug addict prove to her that there's more to life than just pain? Percabeth. T/M.
1. Prologue

**Warning: If you are not okay with blood, cutting, mental disorders, drug abuse, suicidal characters, character deaths then I would not advise reading this. Even if it is just lightly initiated. Please be aware that this is rated T/M, not just T.**

**CiNdEr: (inspired by **horse-crazy girl13's **Cinderella)**

**Summary: Just another Cinderella story...only with a dark twist. Where does a cutter find her Prince Charming? And where does a drug addict find his Princess? The answer is not a castle, but a mental hospital. "I want to be Cinderella, but how am I supposed to find my Prince Charming in a mental hospital? And what if he's insane?" Annabeth Chase's father remarried after her mother died from Cancer, adding a wicked Stepmother, and two cruel twins. Annabeth doesn't beileve in a fairy tale ending, especially with arms like hers. Can a green eyed drug addict prove to her that there's more to life than just pain? Or will Annabeth never become the Cinderella she wants to be since she was little? Rated T/M. **

_"A dream is a wish your heart makes when you're fast asleep. In dreams you will lose your heartaches. Whatever you wish for, you keep. Have faith in your dreams, and someday, your rainbow will come smiling through. No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dream that you wish will come true."- Cinderella._

* * *

**Annabeth's P.O.V:  
Prologue:**

Tears were shimmering in my eyes. A few over passing my restraint to keep them in, and cascading slowly down my pale cheeks.

He stared at me, his green eyes that I had became so acquainted to emotionless and steely. I know he doesn't want to see me, but I can't bring myself to leave.

"For once in my life," I began slowly, making sure I thought my words over before I spoke them. "I feel okay to be broken. Ever since I was little I never fit in anywhere. I was alone. I was broken. Then you had to come along. You. I could never ask you to fix me and I don't want to be fixed if it means losing you. I can't lose you, Percy. I don't care if this isn't real. I'd rather be with you than anyone else that is real. Percy- you- make me feel like it's okay to be broken."

For once a look of hope broke out across his expression, his green eyes lighting up from that dead color to an alive one. He approached me slowly and I smiled tentatively, wiping a few spare tears away. I could cry later.

"You make me feel okay to be broken," I repeated. He cupped my cheeks in his hands, his eyes studying mine carefully, his gaze lingering.

His eyes darkened. "Are you sure this is what you want? You want to be with me even after you discovered what I really am?"

I nodded, gripping his arms tightly. "I don't care about the rest of the world. I never cared about anyone-not really- since my mother died. But I care about you, Seaweed Brain. I love you." I grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pressing my lips tightly against his.

He barely participated- completely shocked at my confession. It was a short, soft kiss, so unlike him. When he broke, his expression was of complete awe.

"You make me feel like it's okay to be broken."

Then, a smile etched across his face, although it was a sad one. "We can be broken together."

Of course, I didn't hear Percy Jackson's lifelong lesson yet. Because right now, I was in the car riding to the mental hospital, long before the thought of Percy even resurfaced in my mind once again.

"Take one down, pass it around, twenty bottles of milk on the wall."

It's...spinning. The world.

Going around and around, identical to clockwork, except the world doesn't make repeated ticking noises. Instead, the world makes different sounds. Different than the irritating sound of _tick-tock, tick-tock_.

It makes the sound of laughter. Parents chuckling, the high peals of children giggling and babies squealing with delight.

It makes the sound of freedom; trees rustling in the light breeze. Padding footsteps of children running throughout the world. Birds singing, their wings spreading apart and looking as free as the sun.

It makes the sound of pain, too.

The world makes the sound of my blood rolling off my once tan arms and dripping to the bathroom floor. It makes the sound of me seething with pain, clenching my teeth, digging my sharp fingernails into my palm so hard that it draws more of the scarlet liquid.

It makes the sound of various scars slashed around my arms, some long, some thin. Long, jagged lines, the handiwork of a razor blade.

Pain.

It's all I'll ever hear, all I'll ever be.

Living, breathing, pain, with the clock ticking in the background reminding me of how much time I have left.

The world may make many positive noises...

but all I hear is the blood and the pain.

My stepsisters continue to sing, "take one down, pass it around, nineteen bottles of milk on the wall."

"I'm truly sorry, Annabeth. But you've given me no other choice." I avert my gaze from my father, my grey eyes staring out the car window attentively. "Annabeth?" His voice cracks at the end, as I pointedly ignore him. My father. But, I guess he was never really my father was he? He was the male from which I was reproduced- but not a father. Not a dad. When I had I ever called him 'dad?' When had I ever called him 'pops' or 'daddy' or even 'father'? The answer is never. He will always just be Fredrick to me.

"Take one down, pass it around, eighteen bottles of milk on the wall." They were singing out of tune, but I was still too shell-shocked to correct them.

To tell the truth, I don't know why I'm being sent _there_.

It was just a recent phase, nothing more nothing less. There was nothing somewhat peculiar for Fredrick to find out. Perhaps it wasn't just a phase, but there was nothing more I could do about the matter.

"Take one down, pass it around, seventeen bottles of milk on the wall."

I'm almost positively sure that the she devil and Fredrick overreacted. O-V-E-R-R-E-A-C-T-E-D. Ha. I doubt they could even spell the world without having a hernia or their lack of knowledge cutting in and getting in the way. Call me disrespectful, but I really don't give a damn anymore. If I'm going here, I might as well write my will while I can, right?

I made a mental will in my mind, chuckling darkly underneath my breath as I finished ;absolutely nothing will be given to my father, Fredrick, nor to his wife Helen, except my insurance. Mattie and Barbara (my stepsisters) will under no circumstances be given anything that has ever belonged to me or ever will. All my belongings will go to Thalia Marie Grace, the only person who has been decent to me, in my entire shitty life.

I sighed, but the thought of Thalia brought a smile to my pale lips.

Thalia Grace, my spunky, punk, best friend. However, her permanent record is sure to say some worse things about her.

"Take one down, pass it around, sixteen bottles of milk on the wall."

My smile faded, my chapped lips pulling into a permanent straight line. What if I never got to see her again? She would visit me, right? Or would she think I was off my rocker and amongst those things and never want to socialize with me again?

I hadn't even got the chance to tell my best friend where I was going, let alone why.

_A person like you doesn't deserve any friends._

My teeth grit together as Mattie's words came rushing back to my head. The twins may be arrogant and illogical, but they know how to make a person hurt. Mattie and Barbara were the ones who had gotten me sent to this nut house, along with their fiendish mother for backup. They're all witches. Evil, manipulative, witches who haven't got a shred of common decency in their entire polished, makeup covered bodies.

Mattie was becoming okay, though. If they hadn't discovered what I did, perhaps we would become friends. She had kept the secret for me, and even began to feel concern for me, an emotion that she surely never felt in her life.

"Take one down, pass it around, fifteen bottles of milk on the wall." I knew that Mattie and Barbara were only singing this to remind me that once all the bottles were passed around- we would arrive, and my life as _sane _Annabeth Chase, would be over.

If only they knew that my life was far from over.

They each sang in unison, their voices crackly and high pitched. Forget water torture, just have Mattie and Barbara sing for you. I wanted to clasp my hands over my ears, but that would only give them satisfaction, and disapproval from my parents.

Mattie sent me a side glance, and I nodded curtly; encouragingly.

We would never be friends. But we were allies. And I guess for right now that was enough.

"Take one down, pass it around, fourteen bottles of milk on the wall."

I stare out at the sun, which was slowly peaking itself over, surpassing the clouds that were trying to pin it down.

I suppose in this scenario I was the sun. And the rest of my family was the storm clouds that were slowly covering me, holding me back from shining upon the rest of the world.

"Take one down, pass it around, thirteen bottles of milk on the wall."

"Fredrick," Helen placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, and I resisted the urge to snort. How sweet this scene was, if they didn't have a mental patient in the back seat. "This is for the best."

"You're right, dear," he said softly, but I could still see the pain behind his blue eyes. "How do you always know the right words to say to me?"

I heard Mattie and Barbara cooing and gushing from the row of seats in front of me, and this time I couldn't hold back my snort. I released it, only earning a cold look from Helen, whose wicked brown eyes highly resembled those of a snake.

Through they're gushing, they still managed to sing. "Take one down, pass it around, twelve bottles of milk on the wall."

"Now, Annabeth, dear-" ah, here comes her faux 'I'm the best stepmother in the world' facade. "It's only for the summer. I'm sure you'll miss all of us, but we'll visit as often as we can. Okay, sweetie?"

That was complete and utter bullshit. The smug looks from the terror twins said it all. Firstly, maybe Fredrick only thought I would be there for the summer, but I knew Helen had other plans. Excuses made up to keep me there longer- maybe for the rest of my days. I shuddered at the thought. And secondly, there would be no visitors. Maybe for the first week, Fredrick would visit- alone, of course. Then, he has fulfilled his duties as a father who has a nut job daughter, and wouldn't visit again.

I read on line that neglection was against the law, but what _isn't _ against the law? Those were Thalia's words when I told her that drinking alcohol was a national offense when you're under age. She had waved it off, claiming the facts that 'what isn't against the law?'

"Take one down, pass it around, eleven bottles of milk on the wall."

I reached down in my jean pockets, pulling out my iPod, wondering whether or not if this classified as a 'sharp object.' It held all my favorite songs, one of my favorite things in the world. It was inanimate, but the songs and voices gave the vibe that it was humane.

Placing the owl designed buds in my ear, I leaned back against the car seat, feeling it vibrate from the heavy bumps on the road.

_-and I'm not scared of your stolen power.  
I see you right through you any hour.  
I won't soothe your pain.  
I won't ease your strength.  
You'll be waiting in vain.  
I got nothing for you to gain-_

I shut my eyes tightly, finally feeling tears. The betrayal was too much to bear. How could my own flesh and blood do something like this to me?

How could they be so cold hearted? I never underestimated Helen's power, but I guess I underestimated the lengths that she would go to keep me under lock and key.

So I wonder how my family could send me here...

To an insane Asylum.

Even through the blaring sound of the music, I somehow hear there singing.

For the last time.

"Take one down, pass it around, one bottle of milk on the wall."


	2. Chapter One: Once Upon A Time

**Warning: If you are not okay with blood, cutting, mental disorders, drug abuse, suicidal characters, character deaths then I would not advise reading this. Even if it is just lightly initiated. Please be aware that this is rated T/M, not just T.**

**CiNdEr: (inspired by **horse-crazy girl13's **Cinderella)**

**Summary: Just another Cinderella story...only with a dark twist. Where does a cutter find her Prince Charming? And where does a drug addict find his Princess? The answer is not a castle, but a mental hospital. "I want to be Cinderella, but how am I supposed to find my Prince Charming in a mental hospital? And what if he's insane?" Annabeth Chase's father remarried after her mother died from Cancer, adding a wicked Stepmother, and two cruel twins. Annabeth doesn't beileve in a fairy tale ending, especially with arms like hers. Can a green eyed drug addict prove to her that there's more to life than just pain? Or will Annabeth never become the Cinderella she wants to be since she was little? Rated T/M. **

_"A dream is a wish your heart makes when you're fast asleep. In dreams you will lose your heartaches. Whatever you wish for, you keep. Have faith in your dreams, and someday, your rainbow will come smiling through. No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dream that you wish will come true."- Cinderella._

* * *

**Chapter One: Once Upon A Time  
Annabeth's P.O.V:**

_"So you're going to leave me," I speak the words blandly. Like I'm reading out of a chapter book, stating the facts. "You promised me you never would." Her pale, thin hand reaches over and grasps mine tightly. I rip my hand away, knowing that she's too frail to attempt closure again. Tears are glistening in her eyes, that used to be a bright, lively grey. Now, they're as dark as death. _

_"Some things are out of my control," she exclaims slowly, and I can see the longing for my prescience in her expression. "I don't want to die, Annabeth. I want to stay here with you and your father, and live to see your grandchildren-"_

_"-but you gave up." _

_She coughs, choking on the words that she had began to speak. Her eyes are watery, and her pale face is turning the grimy color of yellow. I see my father through the shades of my mother, Athena's room, pacing back and forth. His hands keep flying to his hair, like he's trying to rip out pieces. Like he's trying to rip out the fact that my mother won't be here in the years to come. _

_"Mommy didn't give up." She tries to compose herself, as she's thrown into another hysterical coughing fit. "Annabeth. Please listen. You're old enough to be strong for your dad and for me, right?"_

_"I'm only twelve," I say flatly, leaning against her bed post. "I think that hardly qualifies me." She lets out a sigh, like she had been expecting this to be my reaction. _

_"Anna-banana, I love you so much, do you know that?" I freeze, at the mention of the nickname she used to say to me when I was little. Hesitantly, my ice barrier begins to melt. Mom's going to die. I finally realize this. Tomorrow, she won't be breathing. The air will be stolen from her lungs. Her body will be cast away to the stars- taken from me. Snatched away, to an unfair fate that she never deserved. "To the moon and back."_

_I nod curtly, trying to blink back the tears that keep swelling in the corners of my eyes. "To the moon and back."_

_I grab her hand and place it in mine. I want to squeeze it tightly, but I know it will only make matters worse. "I love you, mommy." My voice catches at the end of the word mommy, what I used to call her when I was young. When I was still thriving in the innocence of childhood. When I still believed that nothing bad could ever happen to those I love. "I'm sorry I was being so difficult." _

_My tears eventually overwhelm my fight, and I allow them to spill over. She captures my head in between her hands, pulling my thin body against her own. Despite everything, my mother still looks beautiful. Her eyes are dark, but that determination is still there. She had lost all her hair, but the wig replaced her baldness. Her face was tear streaked, but that thoughtful look was always there. I lean into her nightgown, soaking the shoulder to it. _

_"Don't leave me! Please, mommy. No!" _

_"Sh, baby girl. Calm down. Everything's going to be okay- even without me."_

_"I'll always be with you," she continues, trying to calm me down. "In your heart." _

_I scowl into her dress, leaning up ever so slightly. "I don't want you in my heart! I want you here."_

_"I'm going to miss you. But, always know that we'll see each other one day."_

_"How long?" I question, longing for the security of a mathematical number. "How long until I see you again?"_

_Her face is dead serious, as she runs her hand along my face. It's cold now, like it's not even alive. "Hopefully not for a long, long time. I want you to live your life, Annabeth. Don't waste any moment, because a second just as precious as a lifetime. I don't want you to die, now, or soon. I want you to die as an old lady-wrinkles and all."_

_"I want you to fall in love, have kids. Become the famous architect I know you'll become. I want you to _LIVE_ Annabeth. And always know, that no matter what, I'll be there for you. In heaven or God knows where else, I'll be there. You have to promise me something, Annabeth."_

_I nodded, more tears cascading down my cheeks, the sound of my sobs quieting until they ceased altogether. "Anything."_

_"Promise me that you'll live your life to the fullest. That you won't let others push you around, like you're a puppet on strings. That you'll have hope for yourself and the world. Promise me."_

_I swallow down the lump beginning to form in my throat. "I promise."_

_We hugged then, are arms wrapped around one another tightly, like we were afraid to let go. Like she would drift into the stars if I didn't hold her down, like I was afraid she was going to slip through my fingers, like sand._

_She died the next day. _

"What is _this_?" The feminine voice shrieked in disgust. "Ugh, it's disgusting."

"Absolutely revolting," the other girl sneered.

My eyes peeled open, shutting at the bright sunlight that was pouring through the bedroom window, in long streaks of yellow. The last remains of my dream were beginning to disappear with my awakening. It was a horrible, sorrow filled nightmare, but I couldn't remember the contents of it. It was fading quicker as I slowly drifted back into consciousness.

I gasped, sitting abruptly up when I realized that the two voices were not just in my subconscious mind. Fighting back the urge to curl up into a ball and fall asleep, I glowered at the two teenage girls rummaging through my closet.

Throwing myself up I snarled, " and what do you think you're doing?" I fought the urge to flop back down on my bed as blue spots danced across my eyes from standing up to soon.

My eyes flickered to the clock. Seven a.m.

They both exchanged an amused look, throwing down my plain Jane grey sweater to the floor. Mattie stared at it, like it was a bug just daring to be squashed by her designer boots. Meanwhile Barbara was having fun reading through my diary-

"I'll never forget that dream. I have it almost every night. It's a man, with bright emerald eyes, like little tiny pieces of seaweed-"

I chucked a pillow at her, fumbling with my blankets. She evaded my plush pillow easily, though, sidestepping. "That's private!"

"Not anymore," Mattie chimes in, her brown straightened to perfection. Her malicious lip gloss smile is enough to make me want to cut again. Speaking of cutting, I better pull down my sleeves. The last thing I want was for those two wicked step sisters to know about my, uh, little problem.

Barbara continues, "and he stares at the stars on some random shitty building- really Annabeth? You shouldn't swear. What would mother think?- and wishes for something. Not just something, me. He wishes for me."

Mattie snickers so loudly, she has to lean up against my dresser to keep her balance. Meanwhile, my face felt like it was igniting on fire. I blushed harder, jumping out of bed.

"Give me that- _now_." I glare at her, making my expression as intimidating as I could humanely make it. Was that my imagination, or did fear just flash through Barbara's eyes? She stumbled backward, waving it above her head, Barbara's look of fear replaced by smugness.

And I'll have you know, that didn't do wonders for my pride.

"Aw, come on bitch. If you want it, you're going to have to come and get it."

Making my voice high pitched and screechy at an attempt to mimic Barbara's words (I have to say, I did pretty well) I retorted, "Really, Mattie, you shouldn't swear. What would mother think?" She sent her sister a stern look, and Barbie shrugged in response. All everyone and anyone called her Barbie, transforming her name into something more catchy. I would have preferred Barbie Bitch, but we all don't get what we want do we?

Anyways, when I said 'anyone' I really meant anyone except for me.

I was a loner, the girl who sat alone at lunch. The girl who was picked on by everyone. The girl who chose books rather than looks. The girl that everyone despises, including myself.

I hate myself. I'm not proud to say it, or even think it, or carve it into my skin, but I know it's the deadpanned truth. I'd be dishonest if I stated that I loved myself.

My hair was curly and honey suckle colored, but I kept it hidden under my Yankees Cap...the last thing my mother ever gave me to me. My skin was naturally tan, the only good thing about me. I normally wore blue jeans, with a random t-shirt, and a thick hoodie/jacket. No one could know about my secret. And no one was going to. I suppose I'd have more friends if Barbie/Barbara hadn't labeled me as the school's loser when I transferred over to their private school. Yancy Academy. Though, it should really be called Mattie and Barbara Academy- the school where everyone worships the ground that they walk upon.

My hand twitched, and I snapped back to my thoughts. I already wanted to escape to the haven of my bathroom, and cut again. These urges mostly happened when I was anxious or stressed...so yeah, every second of every day.

She chucked the book at me, rolling her brunette eyes. "Whatever, Annie. I have better things to do than socialize with...miscreants."

"Right," I said sarcastically, brushing my bangs to the side. "Because the term miscreants is totally edgibale in the twenty first century."

Barbie stepped in, hooking her arms through Mattie's. Needless to say, they were best friends and worst enemies. They were ambivalent with one another, making dinner conversations very interesting. Not that anyone talked to me anymore.

Fredrick (as I called him now) stopped speaking to me as soon as mom passed away. At first, everyone had claimed it to be his grieving time and that was his way with dealing with it. I had accepted it, and had waited and longed for the day when he would give me an Eskimo kiss and scoop me up in his arms.

That day never came. And a year later, he met Helen and was...happy.

His grieving time was over and I realized that I had mistaken grief for hate.

He couldn't even look at me without cringing in disgust and hatred.

That was okay. I was used to it.

"Oh. My. God! Annabeth, I have no idea what you just said. Try taking a charismatic class or something. You're like, totally socially retarded."

I sent her an icy glare as they sashayed from the room, their hips swaying in perfect alignment.

"Oh, and Annabeth? Happy birthday."

As soon as there skimpy asses were out of my room, I slammed the door, locking it tightly. I exhaled deeply, sliding down the door like they did in those cliché movies.

I rested my head in my hands, my forehead already beaded with sweat.

"Mom..." I whimpered, squeezing my eyes shut. "I miss you."

There was no response, other than the cackles from downstairs.

. . .

_I was thirteen years old. I shouldn't be doing this. No, I couldn't be. This had to be a dream, as I held the razor with trembling hands. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Pale as a ghost, hollow grey eyes, with no emotion cast in them. Frizzy hair, the curls messed together in tangles. _

_I turned away from the lifeless girl in the mirror and back to my arm, which was fully exposed. _

_The physical pain distracted me from the emotional pain._

_I bit my lip, my teeth sinking into it as I pressed the coolness up to my flesh. _

_Then, I sliced. _

_The blood appeared quickly, and I winced in pain, but felt a rush of endorphins take the pain away. I felt relieved, better. Without my razor, I don't know what I'd do. It felt like I was floating on a cloud, adrenaline pumping through my veins. And for a moment, I forgot._

_I forgot that my own father hated me. I forgot that my mother was dead. I forgot everything...except for the blood. _

_It was exhilarating, the rush. And the five second amnesia, too. _

_Even if my memory loss was only momentarily, it was completely and utterly worth it. It was worth the battle scar that I'd have forever, because for once in my life I felt completely. Whole. I was living. Wasn't that what my mother wanted me to do? Live? Well, I was living now. This was the definition of liveliness. _

_But, as the blood continued to cascade down my arm in a bloody river, my memory was back. My mother was dead. My own father hated me. My father was marrying a women he had only known for three months. _

_I sighed, leaning my head up against the glass, letting the blood drip to the floor like teardrops. In a way, they were like tears. Tears of blood that wanted to be released. And so I freed them. _

_The schedule was the same every day. _

_Deep breaths. Slice. Flesh connecting with a blade. Blood. The rush. The endorphins passing. The pain taking its place. _

_Then, the dark line taking the bloods place. _

_And finally, there's the remorse. _

_And depending if I'm feeling up to it, I do more than one slash. _

_But it was always the same. Exactly the same procedure, over and over._

_And out of all the steps, the regret was the worst._

. . .

I swallow down the lump that was growing painful in the back of my throat. But, I would not cry. Not in Helen's house. I was too prideful for that. I brushed myself off, fixing my baggy, grey pants and my long sleeved blue t-shirt.

Another year.

Another day.

And another meaningless birthday.

I grab a beanie, tying my frizzy hair up, before stumbling out of my room and down the stairs. Of course, they're waiting for me, with their perfect little dresses that the girls at Yancy Academy only dream of ever getting.

"Hello, Annabeth."

"Um...hi?"

At first, I thought maybe just maybe, Fredrick and Helen hadn't forgotten my sixteenth birthday.

And of course, I was proven wrong when a long list was practically shoved in my face. The list.

The_ dreaded_ list. I practically cringed whenever I saw the paper, Helen's sloppy cursive all over it. I mentally counted the list of chores on the paper _1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, etc, etc. _

"There's twenty chores to do?"

"Yes, sister. In fact," she pointed at an invisible watch. "You better get started right now. They might take you a while."

"But-but it's my... birthday." Mattie and Barbie glanced at each other, before erupting in a fit of giggles.

"Like mother cares. Honestly, Annabeth. I thought you were smarter than that to have actual hope." I sighed, slowly sinking down to the last step of the stairs. I groaned quietly, pressing my back against the wooden step. Even though it was covered by a rug, it was still uncomfortable.

"Oh," Barbie said, clicking her tongue in a petty fashion. "I think Annie thinks that because it's her sixteenth birthday mother will cut her some slack."

My mouth fell open, half ajar, as my cheeks heated up with anger. Slowly it clamped up when I recognized the truth behind they're words. They were right. I was expecting something different. Maybe just one birthday wish; "happy birthday, Annabeth. Even though I hate you, you are sixteen." Or maybe, "because it's you're sixteenth, you don't have to do any chores." I had hope.

And hope was the enemy.

Mattie giggled, swinging herself around on the staircase ledge. We were all in the same grade at Yancy, and I sometimes found myself thinking that if the twins were younger, my life would be bearable to say the least. "Silly, Annie."

"It's a school day, too!"I protested, pulling my knees up to my chin. "How does Helen expect me to finish all these chores before school starts?"

"Helen expects you to do it after school," a cruel familiar voice sneered from the kitchen. I really wished that it wasn't familiar...

Helen strut into the room, her brown eyes glazing over my appearance. She had a fiery red dress on, that hung in frills at the ends. She had on a black work jacket, with red heels strapped to her faux tan legs. Her brown hair was in a bun, that stylists would call perfection. Helen Troy was the perfect image of step mother, and I could see why Fredrick had fallen in love with her so quickly. She was beautiful, but not as beautiful as my biological mother. While Helen looked like something that came from a bottle, Athena didn't need to try. I cringed as I noticed that Helen had on her signature scarlet red lipstick, making her resemble the queen of hearts.

Once I composed myself, I managed, "It's the last week, Stepmother! We have a lot of homework, and we're reviewing study guides for the exams. There's no possible way that I could finish my homework and clean the house!" She eyed the girls meaningfully, and they gave me a knowing smile, before exiting the room stifling there laughter.

Helen approached me, pursing her blood red lips. "Look at me, Annabeth Chase." I stared at the floor, smirking darkly. She didn't deserve my gaze.

Sharp fingernails grabbed my chin, tilting my head around sharply. I stifled my cry of surprise, as I was physically forced to look at her.

"Was that attitude I just heard?"

"Are you deaf- or just plain stupid?" That's what I _wish_ I would've said. But, I didn't. Instead, I kept my mouth clamped shut, shaking my head, signaling a no.

"That's what I thought," she stared at me smugly, before her high heels clamped away, seemingly shaking the entire room. "Don't forget to finish that list. If you don't- you'll regret it." She said it in a playful, lacy tone, like she couldn't care less. But I got the meaning behind it. The list was just the messenger- sending me a painful reminder. My hand traced the scar on my collarbone, right above my breasts.

The day when I tried to fight back, the day when I refused to do the dishes, refused to be polite, refused to clean the house, iron her dresses, do Mattie and Barbie's homework for her. The day I refused to be her puppet.

It had resulted with her stabbing me with a kitchen knife.

The wound didn't hurt that bad- after all, I was used to cutting myself. It hurt, though, worse than just the razor blade. I was fourteen, and knew then, that there would be no escaping from her grasp. At least, not until I was eighteen.

"Three years," I whispered to myself hoarsely. "Three years until I'm out of this hell hole."

Little did I know that this year would be different. Much different.

* * *

**A/N: Yep, depressing. Just like I promised! :) Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and favorites. I know I say this every chapter to every one of my stories, but I really sincerely appreciate it. I basically check my email every hour to see if anyone liked it. So, I hope you did! Next update will be next week Monday because I have to study for the Entrance Exam to get into High School. Life of the party right here. R&R.  
**


	3. Chapter Two: Why, It's Like A Dream

**Warning: If you are not okay with blood, cutting, mental disorders, drug abuse, suicidal characters, character deaths then I would not advise reading this. Even if it is just lightly initiated. Please be aware that this is rated T/M, not just T.**

**CiNdEr: (inspired by **horse-crazy girl13's **Cinderella)**

**Summary: Just another Cinderella story...only with a dark twist. Where does a cutter find her Prince Charming? And where does a drug addict find his Princess? The answer is not a castle, but a mental hospital. "I want to be Cinderella, but how am I supposed to find my Prince Charming in a mental hospital? And what if he's insane?" Annabeth Chase's father remarried after her mother died from Cancer, adding a wicked Stepmother, and two cruel twins. Annabeth doesn't beileve in a fairy tale ending, especially with arms like hers. Can a green eyed drug addict prove to her that there's more to life than just pain? Or will Annabeth never become the Cinderella she wants to be since she was little? Rated T/M. **

_"A dream is a wish your heart makes when you're fast asleep. In dreams you will lose your heartaches. Whatever you wish for, you keep. Have faith in your dreams, and someday, your rainbow will come smiling through. No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dream that you wish will come true."- Cinderella._

* * *

**Chapter Two: Why, It's Like A Dream.**

**Annabeth's P.O.V:**

People want to know why they do it. Why I do it. Not me intentionally, but why any cutter does it.

What it makes you _feel _like.

So I'll dead pan it, tell you straight forward. At first you're hesitant. Like you're unsure on whether or not you're supposed to be doing this. Thoughts rush through your head screaming; this is wrong! This is wrong! But the sadness and sorrow and the rage drives you onward. Eventually, you get over the logic. You just want to feel again, anything. Pain. There's pain when you slice, like a stinging, burning sensation that spreads through your body in absolute adrenaline. You're heart thumps loudly, and you're afraid that someone might hear it.

Then the blood appears. It seeps through the cut, like swirls of a ghost rising from its grave. There's no such thing as reality, when you get the rush. The endorphins pumps through your veins, taking you to another world.

Then reality hits you head on, like you're getting hit by a semi truck. You grab anything to stop the bleeding, remorse settling in. But the next day, you're back at it. Cutting and slicing you're flesh until you're a bloody, scarred work of art.

Cutting is like going on a diet if you're overweight. If you give into the food, the temptation of the chocolates and sweets, you enjoy it while you're eating it. You enjoy it way too much for comfort. And when you're meal is over, you knew that you did something wrong. But, you keep coming back for more food, until you're stuffed.

The only difference between cutting and food is with slicing- you don't ever get stuffed. It'll always be there, creeping around you, towering over you like a giant skyscraper. You'll live in its shadow- forever. It doesn't ever go away; never.

After you're done and cleaned up you make an oath to yourself- a promise- that this will be the last time you ever abuse your own body.

Then the next day, you cut again. And then the day after that, and so on.

You hide all the evidence like the coward you are, because in reality you are one. You clean the wounds, bandage them up and hide underneath heavy layers of clothes and long sleeves. You destroy the evidence, only leaving you longing for more.

It's like a dream.

For some reason I was thinking of this, as I threw the blade away in hysterical tears. I felt so weak, like a small child who was exposed to imaginary monsters that weren't so imaginary anymore.

"Mom. Everything hurts. I hate this. I hate dad. I hate myself. I hate my life." I collapsed to the floor of the bathroom, the blade laying a few feet away from me. I looked up at the ceiling, and for a moment I thought I saw starts. "I know I promised to live, but...it's too hard, mommy." I scrambled foreword, clasping the razor tightly in my hand, standing up, knees shaking. They feel like they're about to buckle, so I place all my weight against the toilet.

I then place the blade up to my wrists. Two slices. It would hurt, two sharp stings of fresh pain, blood pouring off me, splattering to the floor, making large puddles of agony and shame. But then it would be all over. I would be with mom again. That's all that matters, right?

Barbara, Mattie, Helen, and Fredrick were gone. When they return, I'll be long dead.

I don't care what Athena is thinking of right now. She's probably staring down at me, a look of pure shock and horror of what I've become.

My trembling hand closes tightly around the cold metal. My fingers linger over the sharpest area, dipping in a bit to test its sharpness. Sharp enough, I think in approval, as the tiniest drop of blood forms on my fingertip.

It is my best blade, after all. I had stolen it from Helen when she was planning on peeling the paint off of the windows. I was twelve at the time, due to turn thirteen in a week. I was slicing myself with scissors, which didn't nearly have the same pleasing effect that the blade did. The blade hurt so much, it was almost like I didn't feel the pain at all.

A couple of times I wondered whether or not if I was just screaming for attention. Showing off for the sake of my depression.

If this was my desperate cry for help, then why didn't I allow anyone to acknowledge that I was in fact doing this? Why did I keep this under lock and key, when I could be flaunting my sliced arms around like some kind of twisted parade?

The thought of showing Thalia my cuts was my living, waking nightmare.

For some illogical, unexplainable reason I felt like I was obligated to keep my dark side secret from everyone I even considered caring about. Thalia most importantly.

I wish I could stop it, but I can't.

I _needed_ cutting, like a drug addict needs it crack or heroine.

I'm depressed.

I'm sad.

I'm angry.

I'm pain.

All I feel is sadness.

I pressed the razor onward. And for once, cutting hurt. I let out a short gasp of pain, as the razor slid foreword, and tears filled my eyes. I tried to convince myself that this is what I wanted...this is my destiny. What was supposed to happen. Ever since mom died I was a living dead girl. I was doomed to this fate. It was supposed to end here.

But something kept holding me from accomplishing my mission.

Was it mom? Was the thought of her making me hesitate? It certainly wasn't dad. He didn't care about me. He never did. I hate him. I hate my life. My blonde curls fell foreword, brushing against my throbbing temples. The room seemed to be spinning, even though I hadn't even left any fatal damage to my wrists yet.

This was the fifth time I had tried to kill myself, and I had failed every single time.

"Annabeth?" A female voice, tapping on my door. "It's Thalia. You're dad let me in." She jiggled the doorknob a few times, but thanks to the lock, she couldn't get in. "What the hell are you doing in there?" I jumped from surprise, so startled that the razor fell from my hand. Thalia couldn't see my like this. She just...couldn't. I would never allow it. She was my best friend...my only friend. I would never scar her emotionally like that.

I cleared my throat, brushing the burning tears away from my eyes. "Just a sec!" I stood up, placing the razor in its hiding place. In my bathroom cabinet under towels. At first, I was weary and paranoid that someone *cough* Mattie and Barbie *cough* would go through my things and find it, but that never happened. So I kept them there. No one, to my knowledge, has ever found them for the three years that they've been there.

I rinsed off my slightly bloody wrist, placing a bandage on it. My 'cutting kit' as I mentally called it, was a tampon box that I filled with my collection of razor blades, bandages, scrap suicide letters, rags, a bottle of pain relievers, and disinfectant wipes.

I popped a pain reliever pill in my mouth, swallowing it with no water. I used them for my cuts. Sometimes, fresh cuts would burn, and the pill would help take the edge off. Ever since I was fourteen...I discovered that they could serve another purpose. I could commit suicide with them.

I pulled down my shirt arms, and emerged from the bathroom, after placing the tampons box back in its hiding place.

As soon as I walked out, I was tackled with a hug. "Happy birthday, girlie!" I grinned, wrapping my arms firmly around her. I abruptly pulled away when a thought occurred to me.

"Wait a minute, how did you get in here? My door is locked."

She nodded enthusiastically, and shrugged it off easily. "The window's aren't. By the way, the living room furniture looks great from the backyard."

"God, Thalia! You're such a creep." I punched her shoulder playfully, knowing that she was only joking. Well, I think she was only joking. You never know with Thalia Marie Grace.

"Happy birthday, Owl Head." I scowl at her nickname for me, from my obsession with owls. It was my mom's favorite animal, and I guess I inherited that from her. My mouth opened, ready to object, when she pulled me into yet another hug.

"Thanks, Thals," I said when we broke away, my irritation dispatching. "And besides that, what the heck are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in Greece with your dad?"

She grinned mischievously, her light freckles dancing. I took in her appearance, I hadn't seen her in a month, much to my dismay. She was usually had a very white skin tone, but looks like Greece took a positive toll on her. She was slightly tan, making her tone of skin look normal for once. Her spiky hair grew out a little longer, reaching her shoulders. Her raven bangs still fell in her electrifying blue eyes, and that punk eyeliner and lipstick was still there. She was wearing black, ripped skinny jeans, a couple of black, clingy, bracelets and a t-shirt that read in big, captioned letters; DEATH TO BARBIE.

She shrugged. "Greece or going to see my best friend? I say the odds are in the favor with the second choice. And don't feel bad, like I know you will- my dad and I had a fight, so you weren't the _only_ reason why I ditched."

I shook my head frantically, "it's not like I'm not glad you're back. You've been gone for what- a month?"

She put her hand over her heart in mock hurt. "I'm hurt, Annabeth. You don't know that I've only been gone for a month and a day?"

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever." I hugged her once more. I had really missed her. I had to sit alone in classes, and lunch, without her sarcastic, dark humor to get me through the day. And considering my situation, I appreciated it more than others would.

"I missed you so much!"

Her amused smile was gone, replaced by a tender one. "Me too. Now- sit! You must tell me everything that's happened for the last couple days." We sat down on my bed as she frowned suddenly, her entire mood shifting. She looked...sad. "Damn, I'm getting ahead of myself."

She grabbed a small, blue velvet box, her eyes darkening. "I got you something."

"You shouldn't have, I mean I could've-"

She scowled, shutting me up instantly. Thalia was... scary when she wanted to be. Her punk makeup didn't help. "No one else gets you anything, let alone wish you a happy birthday. Now, shut you're modest face up!" I didn't bother her by mentioning that her last sentence didn't make any grammical sense.

She opened the box.

My heart stopped, only I didn't commit suicide.

"It's a necklace."

"Thalia..." my voice sounded pained. I couldn't comprehend what I was seeing. It was impossible. She couldn't have it. "Where did you get this?"

I could tell she wanted to break my intense gaze, but she didn't, matching my look. "Don't get mad at me, okay? I visited you're mom before she...you know...passed." I swallowed heavily, blinking back tears. It was my mother's necklace. "It was when you refused to see her. I wanted to say goodbye to her. She was the only mother figure I had ever had. And she was afraid that you wouldn't come to see her before...you know. So she gave me this. Told me to give it to you on your sixteenth birthday. And well, here we are."

"Please don't be mad at me," she continued. "I just wanted to respect your mom's wishes. I looked up to her. I wanted to give it to you at the funeral but, I just couldn't disobey her."

My hand flew to my mouth, my finger lingering over the necklace. Was this a dream? It had to be. My dad spent days looking for her necklace, until finally he accepted that she must've been buried with it.

"Annabeth?" She touched my shoulder. "Please, please don't be angry with me. I really wanted to give it to-"

I shook my head, determined not to start bawling. "I'm not mad, Thals." I gave an unamused laugh. "I just...this can't be real. It feels like a dream."

"It is," Thalia insisted. "Well, aren't you going to...put it on?"

It was my mother's locket. A bright silver colored one. The green owl imprinted on the front of it was still the same. But, it looked bulky- almost like something was stuffed inside of it. My fingers grasped the two sides, in an attempt to pry it open. No luck. Frustrated, I ran my fingers over the owl.

Thalia gave me a sympathetic look. "I tried to open it as soon as you're mom gave it to me. I was curious to see what's inside. It wouldn't open then. You're mom said it would open when the time was right."

My eyebrows furrowed together. What could my mother mean by that? How could it open 'at the right time?' Perhaps she was confused. Maybe the cancer was settling in, messing with her head. It wasn't logical.

"That doesn't make any sense."

"I know. I didn't try and pry, though. You're mom looked so sincere." I nodded curtly, putting the necklace on. I slid it underneath my shirt. Thalia gave me a peculiar look.

"If Fredrick sees it he'll absolutely flip out."

"Oh." She seemed to be a million miles away, her eyes hazy. She snapped back quickly, "and we wouldn't want your dad to hurt you're pretty little head of his."

I laughed, but it was short lived.

"Thank you," I whispered, wrapping my arms around her again. "Thank you so much."

When I pull away, there's a wetness on her shoulder.

Tears that I don't need to carry anymore.

. . .

"So?" She questioned, nudging my shoulder. "What do you want to do, birthday girl?" I sighed, flopping back onto my bed. We had just spent an hour talking and catching up. About the terror twins and there new boyfriends, about the loner, hot boy who Thalia was practically in love with, about Thalia and her dad's fight, about the she devil, about...life.

The only thing I didn't tell her about was...cutting. I had known Thalia since I was seven years old and I had never told her that I started to cut, nonetheless that I attempted to kill myself on a daily bases. It was personal, if that even made an ounce of sense.

"I don't know. I still have to get started on this list." I groaned, handing it over to Thalia. Her eyes seemed to bug out of their sockets, they were so wide with shock.

Her cheeks turned red. "That.._.bitch_! How can she make you do this shit on your sixteenth birthday? If you're mom was here, she'd beat the shit out of Helen."

I gave a tiny, strained smile at the thought, but knew it would never happen. Because my mom was dead.

And she wasn't coming back.

Ever.

No matter how hard I wished on those shooting stars, no matter how much I missed her, there would never be any more 'I love yous.' There would never be any more trips to the library.

"Language, Thalia," I chastised, flickering back to Thalia. She scoffed in disbelief.

"You've got to be kidding me! This is child labor. I oughta have a few words with Queen Bitch!"

"Want to help me clean?" I questioned earnestly, desperate to change the subject. If Thalia confronted Helen...I shook my head, running my hand along the scar right next to my collarbone.

"No!" Thalia snarled, gripping my hand and pulling me off the bed. For a teenage girl, she had unimaginable strength. "You're not cleaning. I'm not cleaning. It's your birthday. We should be partying! You should have presents everywhere! It's unbelievable. You're father's a weakling- no offense."

I shrugged, knowing it was true. He was weak after my mother died. Not physically, but mentally. He hated me, I knew, because whenever he stared at me- he saw her. My mom. I have a couple other theories as to why, but I knew that was the biggest conflict for him.

"And don't even get me started on slut one and slut two. Ugh, why did Helen have those two bitches? And speaking of Queen bitch-"

"Please don't say anything," I begged. "_Please_."

She stared at me like I was an alien. "You're joking, right? Someday, Annabeth, you're going to have to stand up to her."

If only she knew that I had stood up to her, and this scar was the effect.

I averted my gaze, taking a sudden interest in my shoes. "Helen doesn't like it when I talk back to her."

"That's such bullshit." She shook her head in disgust. "Here, I have an idea. Why don't we clean the house- then go party. As late as we want."

"I have school, Thalia." I glanced the digital clock on my dresser. "Which starts in a half an hour. Speaking of school, are you coming with me?"

"Yup. Since I got here a month early, my dad enrolled me back in school."

I sighed in relief. I didn't know what I would do without her.

"So, how's your dad doing? Have you two spoken?"

"He still won't say anything. Not since mom was alive. He just completely ignores me. It's not like he's busy or anything- he just despises me. Because when he looks at me...he sees mom. I just want to know what I did to make him hate me so much!"

"You're dad doesn't hate you, Annabeth. He's just...wallowing in sadness. Drowning in it. He doesn't want to feel pain. He doesn't want to accept what has happened. He's stubborn, like you. He wants to pretend like nothing ever happened, but if you're there, he can't. So he bluntly avoids you. I know it's not fair, and I'm not going to his defense, because he doesn't deserve one. You're dad is a coward, Annabeth. That will never change, unless he wants it too. There's nothing that you can say or do to make him be positive towards you. It's up to him, not you. So stop blaming yourself for his actions. Stop blaming yourself for his attitude. The only thing you can do is have hope."

"Hope is the enemy," I breathed, so quietly Thalia doesn't hear me. I don't want to get my hopes up, because then, I'll end up more wounded than I was before. I'm tired of taking leaps of faith. I always end up free falling, and crashing to the ground. It hurts, and I don't want to go through it again. That's my strategy, don't expect anything, and you won't get disappointed.

I had hope that my mother would recover.

She died.

"I guess," I said, unsure of Thalia's words. "I just wish he would smile at me- no, acknowledge my existence. And since when did you become a psychiatrist?"

She grinned at me, but her eyes seemed sorrow filled. "Years of practice. Now, come on, enough sadness. Let's go to school."

"Just let me get dressed first. I don't feel like going to school in my pj's."

"Mm-kay." She nodded in approval, as I grabbed jeans, a grey t-shirt, a heavy jacket, and headed to the bathroom.

I changed quickly. There was no need to make Thalia wait. I pulled off my shirt, and slid the grey one over my head. I put on my blue jeans, along with my heavy jacket. I usually just wore long sleeved t-shirts, but since I slit my wrist ever-so-slightly an hour ago, I wanted to get absolute cover. I brushed my teeth, then made sure that my tampons box was hidden. It was.

I headed out, and Thalia whistled. Not at me, of course. At the long list. Apparently she had been reading it when I changed.

"Let me see it," I said, taking it from her. No, more like snatching.

"Someone's impatient," Thalia teased, bumping my shoulder as I sat down on the bed. I rolled my eyes sarcastically.

My grey eyes roamed the black and white words in the book, soaking in each word, as if my life depended on it. Which, it kind of did.

_1) Do the dishes. _Not so bad. I have to do it most of the time anyway. It's actually one of the chores I enjoy._  
2) Clean Mattie and Barbara's room. _Ick. For an OCD person like me, there room is hell._  
3) Clean Fredrick's and MY bedroom. _I just love how she capitalized my. Another message that she would never be gone. I would always be in her shadow. Her web. There would be no way to get rid of her.  
_4.) Do the laundry. (Not just the clothes in the hamper, but around the house, too). _I stole a glance at Thalia's face. Her nose was all wrinkled up like she smelled something bad. She absolutely hated doing laundry. Even her own. She makes her maids do it. I never found the time to ask why.  
_5.) Vacuum the ENTIRE house.  
6.) Mow the ENTIRE lawn.  
7.) Wash the floors. (Do that after vacuuming.) _Well, duh. She makes it sound like I'm unintelligent and unpractical. I had known that's how she views me as, but that dented my pride. And everyone knows how I feel about my pride.  
_8.) Dust the house.  
9.) Polish the tables.  
10.) Wipe down every single window.  
11.) Organize the mess that is the attic.  
12.) Iron mine and the twins clothes. (Mostly are dresses)  
13.) Wipe down the counters.  
14.) Take the garbage out.  
15.) Feed the fish.  
16.) Clean the fish tank.  
17.) Wash the cars.  
18.) Clean the fireplace.  
19.) Clean the bathrooms._

_20.) Organize the library._

"Wow...that was..."

"Stupid?"

"Yes. Couldn't Queen Bitch just tell you to clean the entire house?"

I shrugged. "Come on, Thalia. Do you actually think she's smart enough to figure that out?" Thalia snickered.

Suddenly there was a two loud knocks on the door. "Annabeth!" Mattie screeched angrily, barging in through my pale grey door. Without knocking, of course. Pure shock flashed across her hazel nut eyes when she focused in on the figure sitting next to me. "Oh, Thalia." Her voice was dry, like she was restraining saying something more. Her jaw was clenched. I knew how much she hated Thalia. Thankfully, the feeling was mutual. "I wasn't expecting you back yet. Annabeth told me that you were coming back after school ended."

Sending her a smug look at her displeasure and slight puzzlement, Thalia replied skillfully, "I decided to cut my trip to Greece short."

Oh, I knew Mattie would hate the Greece bit. Other than my family, Thalia's household was the richest in New York City.

Mattie scowled scornfully, giving Thalia a look of childlike redemption, her eyes flickering with flames. "Well, isn't that just a _lovely_ surprise."

Thalia's eyes narrowed at her antsy tone at the word lovely. I decided to step in before something escalated. Not because I wanted to, because I would definitely enjoy watching Thalia kick miss perfect's ass, but because Helen would kill me. Literally.

"So, what's up, Mattie?"

She averted her attention towards me, teeth clenched together. "Mother wants you to cook breakfast. Now."

"I'll help," Thalia offered, as Mattie disappeared from the room.

"Nah," I protested. "It will just irritate Helen."

She looked like she wanted to say more, but the look I gave her made her shut up quickly. I couldn't defy Helen. I just couldn't.

We clomped downstairs, Thalia's combat boots bouncing off each one. "Okay. So you want me to meet you at school?"

I sighed, "sure."

She patted my shoulder, which was covered by my thick hoodie. "Well, have _fun_." Some days, I could just wring her by her skinny neck...

"I will," I taunted back, as she exited through the two sided, expensive, velvet colored front door.

We lived in a mansion. Mattie, Barbie, Fredrick and Helen fit the rich picture perfect happy household. With they're healthy complexions and they're fanciful clothing. Meanwhile I was practically Cinderella.

A Cinderella that had scars scattered around her body, and no dreams whatsoever.

A dark Cinderella, my subconscious mind chimed simultaneously.

An image of Cinderella with a tattered raven-black dress, with scarlet blood dripping onto it, instead of her poufy, light blue dress seen in Disney's movies.

I grinned darkly at the thought. Maybe I had just found my Halloween costume. Of course, I would probably frighten the trick or treating children.

"ANNABETH!"  
"ANNABETH!"  
"ANNABETH ROSE CHASE!"

I rolled my eyes in exasperation.

"I'm coming!"

"Not quick enough!" Barbie called back, and I heard glasses being clanked around. "We have to be at school in, like, five minutes! And breakfast isn't even in the process of being made. Are you retarded? Or are you just naturally stupid?"

My face flamed with incensed, stomping into the kitchen. I had always thought I was intelligent, with my ability to get onto the honor roll and read actual classics. Scratch that. I knew I was smart, and when someone purposely doubted my cleverness, they were in for a world of pain.

If Barbie was anyone else, she would be on the ground. But, with my stepmother there, I was completely defenseless. It was like Helen owned me, an my entire body.

I think that's why I cut myself sometimes. To prove to Helen that she didn't own me, and I could do whatever I wanted to my body. It was my body, and I could do what I wanted with it.

I jogged into the kitchen, and Barbie and Mattie huffed, their arms crossed. They were identical twins, along with they're personalities. Well, there personalities were similar, but slightly different.

Barbie or Barbara was the star. She was the alpha twin, the dominant one. She was the queen B of school, and was a very straight to business type of girl. She didn't beat around the bush, she got right to the point. And that includes insulting. She had blonde highlights distractingly placed in her hair, which looked tacky compared to her natural brunette color. Her clothes showed off her cleavage more, and her shorts went a little too short. Makeup was slathered on her face in light, perky colors. She stuck to hot pink, all her clothes consisting of the color I had come to hate.

Mattie was still second popular, but unlike her airhead twin, she had actual brains. She was more sly, evil and clever, not just bluntly insulting girls, or giving them fashion tips. She wore makeup still, but it was lighter. She was still all about clothing and boys, but she was quieter than Barbie, taking her time to process everything in her head. Kind of like me, but the thought of having even one similarity to Mattie made me sick to my stomach. So revolted, it triggered me off wanting to lock myself away from the world and cut. But, I couldn't. Mattie's color was light pink, another color that I had come to utterly despise.

"Took you long enough," Helen said, sipping her coffee. I made my eyes look apologetic, praying silently that she wouldn't make this into a big deal. I glanced at my dad- Fredrick, who's eyes were glazed to the table, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

"Sorry, stepmother," I said, making my reparations to her. "Thalia visited me."

"That emu brat?"

I had to bite my tongue on this one. She could be wicked and cruel to me if she wanted to. But she couldn't involve my friends- friend- into this. I was very territorial towards anyone who was even neutral to me, Thalia included. Plus, emu was the definition for someone who cuts. What a perfect choice of words!

"No." I defended, trying to keep calm. "She's punk, not emu. And Thalia isn't a brat." Fredrick's eyes flickered up once, but he seemed to wince when he saw me.

"Annabeth," Fredrick started. If he ever talked to me- it was to defend Helen, or lecture me for being so insensitive at Mattie or Barbie. "Don't talk back to Helen."

"Yes, Fredrick." His eyes looked hurt every time I called him by his first name, but I had no sympathy for him. I just resented him, and that would never change.

I began to butter the toast, skillful with the knife. I eyed the butcher knife on the counter next to me, it's metal seemed to gleam with truncation, almost like it was saying; _I almost killed you next year. And if you don't watch your back, you'll relive the whole thing. _

I shut my eyes, face paling at my thoughts. Maybe this time I wouldn't care if she stabbed me. Maybe I wanted to end my life entirely.

I did want to end it all, but I wanted to do it myself, despite my failed attempts.

"Hurry up, Annabeth."

"I'm going as fast as I can, Mattie. Do you want this to be done properly or sloppily?"

She simply scoffed in response.

After making the egg whites, I passed the plates around. I wasn't that hungry. After cutting myself this morning, I was actually feeling nauseous. My fingers pricked at my thighs, desperate to cut.

Must resist, Annabeth. I mentally told myself. If the twins knew that I was cutting myself...I couldn't contemplate the horrible things that they would do to expose my secret.

"So, girls, how is your school project going?" A painful pang was sent to my chest. Fredrick never asks me how school is, but then again, he doesn't talk to me unless he's correcting my attitude towards Helen and the twins.

"Oh, just wonderful, Fredrick." Barbie gushed, and my grey eyes looked up at the ceiling. "Mattie and I have decided to make our science project a _cosmetic_ one." Wow, what a big word. I had no idea that Barbie had such a awe-inspiring vocabulary. I listened in, actually curious to hear what they were about to say. "Mood lip gloss! It's just like mood rings, only on your lips. We're still trying to figure out how to make it work, but in the end, it's going to be totally awesome and chic!"

I felt Mattie's eyes on me and was completely astonished when she asked, "what are you doing for your science project Annabeth?"

"Um..." I felt everyone's eyes on me, and I wondered what game Mattie was playing. There was no way that she was playing nice. She always toyed with people, and was manipulative to anyone who got on her bad side. Seeing as there was no logical explanation to why she was doing this or if it could backfire on me, I continued, "I'm doing a quantative analysis of super cooling and snap freezing as a water purity measurement."

Barbie gave me a look like I was abnormal, which I ignored.

"Really?" Mattie cried, captivated by my words. That's when I noticed the dimple that kept appearing on her cheek. She faked shock and anger, "that's what Drew is doing, you copycat! Drew even told me that she caught you eavesdropping on her conversation at school."

I gaped at her, mouth hanging open. First of off, Drew was the biggest airhead in the entire school. And secondly, I had better things to do than listen in on Drew's conversation. Helen's features turned sharp. "Is that true, Annabeth?"

"No!" I half shouted in incredulousness. I turned my attention back at Mattie, who was frowning, but her eyes captured all the meaning. "That is such a load of shit-"

"Language, Annabeth!" Fredrick lectured. I cast him a look of betrayal, before crossing my arms tightly across my chest, staring at my untouched plate.

"Don't pout, Annabeth," Helen said, popping a purple grape in her mouth. "You wouldn't want your face to freeze like that, would you?"

I scowled at her, pushing away from my chair.

"And where do you think you're going?"

"School," I responded bitterly.

Maybe making me bleed was the answer to washing the slate clean.

* * *

**A/N: Just so you know guys- I DO NOT CUT MYSELF. I'm just a girl who likes Mental Disorder stuff way too much. Other than being an author, I want to be a children's therapist when I grow up. For people who are kind of insane. My friend was reading through this and this is basically what she said, "you do realize this sounds kind of shady, don't you?" "What do you mean?" "People are gonna think you cut yourself if they read it." NO. I don't. Just clearing that up. On to different news, thank you guys for the thirty reviews! Next update will be sooner. **

**Important Note: Can you guys please refrain from asking me to update "Playing The Player" in my other stories? I know, I know, you really want me to update it. I get it. I am one of those people who loves updates! But if you want to ask me to update, do it in the story that you want updated. I'm having writer's block for that story at the moment, and the next update will probably be later. Please remember that I'm a thirteen year old girl who has four stories to work on, and I also have school on top of that. I will update when I can update. (Sorry if I sounded kinda bitchy and conceited, just really fed up with school and writer's block.) **


	4. Chapter Three: Not Your Average Prince

**Warning: If you are not okay with blood, cutting, mental disorders, drug abuse, suicidal characters, character deaths then I would not advise reading this. Even if it is just lightly initiated. Please be aware that this is rated T/M, not just T.**

**CiNdEr: (inspired by **horse-crazy girl13's **Cinderella)**

**Summary: Just another Cinderella story...only with a dark twist. Where does a cutter find her Prince Charming? And where does a drug addict find his Princess? The answer is not a castle, but a mental hospital. "I want to be Cinderella, but how am I supposed to find my Prince Charming in a mental hospital? And what if he's insane?" Annabeth Chase's father remarried after her mother died from Cancer, adding a wicked Stepmother, and two cruel twins. Annabeth doesn't beileve in a fairy tale ending, especially with arms like hers. Can a green eyed drug addict prove to her that there's more to life than just pain? Or will Annabeth never become the Cinderella she wants to be since she was little? Rated T/M. **

_"A dream is a wish your heart makes when you're fast asleep. In dreams you will lose your heartaches. Whatever you wish for, you keep. Have faith in your dreams, and someday, your rainbow will come smiling through. No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dream that you wish will come true."- Cinderella._

* * *

**Chapter Three: Not Your Average Prince Charming  
Annabeth's P.O.V:**

It. Was. Raining.

And to me, rain was like pouring acid.

And Thalia _still_ wasn't here to pick me up.

I huffed, hugging myself tightly as the rain continued to pour down on my now damp body. Then, a horrible thought accord to me.

What if the rain soaked through my bandages from my fresh cuts? Therefore, causing the blood to stain into my clothes?

My mouth dropped into an 'o', heart shuddering against my rib cage. No, no, no, no. I needed to find some form of shelter. And soon. If anyone saw me with bloody arms, then the answer would be obvious, and the secret that I've kept hidden for four entire years would be out.

"Crap," I grumbled, the truth adding to my already grumpy mood. Mattie and Barbie had cars, expensive ones to specify. Fredrick and Helen (surprisingly) had offered me a car on my fifteenth birthday. But I knew it was just an opportunity to keep me out of the house more often. Plus, I didn't want anything from them. Even if it was a car...

Now, I was sincerely regretting their offer.

A car pulled up in front of me, and for a moment it looked like Thalia's silver Chevy. Until I saw that the driver seated in it was a man. I turned away, my blonde curls dangling wetly, splashing my face with embarrassment from my incorrect familiarity.

The car window rolled down, and I cringed when I realized he was going to talk to me. "Need a ride, sweetheart?"

I collected myself, before turning around, annoyance seemingly seeping through me.

That's when my heart stopped altogether.

Green eyes.

The teenage boy from my dream.

He looked exactly how I had dreamt him. And how had I dreamt him? It was impossible, utterly irrevocable.

"Are you high or something?"

That snapped me back into reality. I placed my hands on my hips, glowering at the arrogant boy. I was most certainly not high...how dare he accuse me of doing drugs, let alone abusing them?

"Excuse me? I am not high. And if you ever call me sweetheart again, you'll regret it." I tried to sound as intimidating as I intended to, but my voice shook on the end. I was practically seeing a figment of my imagination talking and driving in front of me. I would have even doubted his realness, if it wasn't for the car planted in front of me.

As the fog cleared in my head, I noticed little things that stuck out. Raven messy hair. The different colors of green in his eyes. The small dimple on his left cheek. Bags under his eyes. Lips slightly chapped. His hand was tapping on the window ledge, as if restraining from doing something. He gave me a sly smile, the definite sign of a player.

"Sorry, _sweetheart_. Look, do you need a ride or not?" Let's add rude to the long list of negative traits.

I rolled my eyes. "No."

"Yes, you do."

I did, actually. I was going to be late to school, and I never am. Good grades is the only thing that I have left, along with my cuts. And speaking of cutting if the red liquid soaked through the bandages...

"Maybe so," I chortled. "But I'm not getting raped today."

"Don't flatter yourself." Impetuousness crept into his voice. "It's cold out there, and pouring. I don't want you to catch a cold, or die. Plus, we're not strangers."

"We're not?" I quipped, my eyebrows raising. "I don't recall meeting you."

"That's probably because you haven't." He outstretched his arm to me. "I'm Thalia Grace's cousin. Percy Jackson."

* * *

**A/N: Short chapter, but I intended it to be this way. I have a lot more written, but I'd figure this would be a good way to end it. Thank you all for your reviews, follows, favorites, and just reads. I basically say that on every single chapter to every one of my stories, but I mean it. You guys are incredible! Next update will be quicker; I've just been quite busy. **


	5. Chapter Four: Above All, Self Control

**Warning: If you are not okay with blood, cutting, mental disorders, drug abuse, suicidal characters, character deaths then I would not advise reading this. Even if it is just lightly initiated. Please be aware that this is rated T/M, not just T.**

**CiNdEr: (inspired by **horse-crazy girl13's **Cinderella)**

**Summary: Just another Cinderella story...only with a dark twist. Where does a cutter find her Prince Charming? And where does a drug addict find his Princess? The answer is not a castle, but a mental hospital. "I want to be Cinderella, but how am I supposed to find my Prince Charming in a mental hospital? And what if he's insane?" Annabeth Chase's father remarried after her mother died from Cancer, adding a wicked Stepmother, and two cruel twins. Annabeth doesn't beileve in a fairy tale ending, especially with arms like hers. Can a green eyed drug addict prove to her that there's more to life than just pain? Or will Annabeth never become the Cinderella she wants to be since she was little? Rated T/M. **

_"A dream is a wish your heart makes when you're fast asleep. In dreams you will lose your heartaches. Whatever you wish for, you keep. Have faith in your dreams, and someday, your rainbow will come smiling through. No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dream that you wish will come true."- Cinderella._

* * *

**Chapter Four: Above All, Self Control:**

"So, uh, do you go to Thalia's high school? Yancy, right?"

"Um, yeah," I replied, still captivated by him. And not in the way that you would think. The boy who I had dreamt about reoccurringly was sitting in front of me. I tried to come up for a logical explanation, but there wasn't one. The only possible reasons could be that one, I was losing my mind, and two, I had met him before. "Are you sure that we didn't meet before?"

He nodded his head, flicking his black hair to the side. Confusion was drawn out amongst his face. "Yep. Why?"

I shook my head, trying to brush the unsettling thought away. "No reason. I just- you look really familiar, that's all." My eyes narrowed in on the black bags that made his sea green eyes look malevolent. "Are you okay?"

His stiffened, shoulders broadening, jaw tightening. "Yes."

I suddenly caught a fascination with my sneakers, letting my curls drift downward, so it was covering half of my face like a blonde curtain. I was so stupid to get into the car with an absolute stranger- a person who didn't even look sane. He could've been lying when he said that Thalia was his cousin. After all, it was very_ convenient _that he had just so happened to be around when my problem accord.

"I should be asking you the same question," he finally spoke, and I noticed the playful tone in his voice along with the ruggedness. "You don't look so good. You're really pale. Geez, aren't California girls supposed to be tan or something?"

"I guess I'm different than other girls," I shrugged. Then, my grey eyes widened in shock."How did you know that I come from California?"

He gave me an amused smile, noticing my discomfort. "Thalia talks about you a lot. You're a good influence on her, making her do her homework and such."

_Liar. _

There's something he isn't telling me, something that he doesn't want me to know.

Good influence? I had never, ever considered that possibility. How could a hormonal, cutting, teenage girl be a good influence? The answer was that she couldn't, thus, I wasn't one.

"Oh, no." I said quickly, not wanting him to get the wrong impersonation of me. "I'm not a good influence."

He quirked an eyebrow flirtatiously, and I felt warmth spread across my cheeks. His green eyes narrowed in on my blush, sending me another crooked smile, causing me to flush even more. Why, oh why did he have to be so good looking with his broad shoulders, muscular frame, messy raven hair and beautiful eyes?

"You're not? Well, I guess I have to watch you carefully then." He winked, and I immediately broke our gaze, trying to snap from my trance.

"I'm not available," I spoke the words quietly, but my voice increased with every word. "Just to let you know." I didn't have a boyfriend, and I didn't want one either. What boy would want some screwed up girl like me?

He shrugged, his eyes flickering from me to the road. "I'm a senior. You're a junior. What makes you think I'm interested?"

"It's not that gross, you know." I pointed out unintentionally. "Not that I'm encouraging you, but two years difference isn't that long. And besides that-you were giving me a winky face."

Sincerely baffled he spluttered, "winky face?"

"Yes- the face that your making right now!"

He rolled his eyes and muttered something along the lines of, "last time I drive my cousin's immature friend anywhere."

I glared at him for damaging my pride. "I'm not immature! I'll have you know that I am at the top of all my classes and my GPA is ninety nine point five percent." His eyebrows raised, clearly impressed, but he only let it show through for a second or two.

"Then, I guess that mean you're a _Wise Girl_ or something." My heart stopped. That's what he called me in my dream...

Taking the nickname from my dream I retorted, "well, with a kelp head like yours you're obviously a _Seaweed Brain."_

His eyes narrowed in suspicion and shock. "What did you just say?"

If I didn't know any better, I'd think that he had a dream about me.

"Nothing!" I spoke to quickly, eager as his car pulled up to my school. His eyes were narrowed in on me, and I shrunk in the seat a little. He shook his head, muttering something under his breath that I couldn't quite catch.

"Um," he stated weakly. "Here we are."

I rolled my eyes, but my expression was thankful. "Thank you, captain obvious." I opened the car door, and was just about to walk out when his hand shot out and touched my shoulder.

It felt like I was zapped by lightening- and not in the painful kind of way.

"Annabeth?"

"Yes?"

"Take care of yourself. The world's a messed up place..." What exactly did he mean by that? Was that a threat?

I settled with, "ditto."

He nodded, jaw still clenched tightly together. I slung my book bag gently around my shoulder blade comfortably, giving him a tiny wave, before he drove away.

That was the last I saw of him-

-when he was free.

. . .

"You got to have a little self control, though, Annie."

"I can't believe this," I spluttered ferociously. "You're taking their side! And don't call me Annie!"

Thalia glanced at me quickly, before averting her attention back towards the flooding hallways full of students and gangly looking teenagers. Her black sunglasses were placed perfectly on her nose, which was sprinkled with freckles. She pushed through the crowd, nearly knocking a scrawny kid to the ground. I sent him a quick apology, before catching back up Thalia.

"I am not taking those bitches sides, Annabeth. I feel sick that you even said that to me." She made a gagging noise for proof, and pretended to revolt in the middle of Yancy's hallway, earning a few odd looks from the unfortunate bystanders.

"But, you just said to have self control! You never have self control. And if you do, you pointedly never use it."

She smacked my shoulder lightly, "that's because I don't have to. You do, if you're not going to stand up to Helen."

I sent her a glare. "Again with the Helen stuff? I'm not going to. End of story."

She rolled her eyes, exasperated. "Eventually you'll have to break free. Or else she'll just trap you forever."

Too late. Much too late. I was already trapped in Helen's clutches the moment that she had stabbed me with the knife. The day I had grown to fear her, even though I'd never admit that to Thalia, or anyone else for that matter.

I stiffened. "Can we not talk about this?" Just speaking of the she devil was frustrating me, making me want to cut to release my anger. My hand twitched to my side, slowly running along my wrist. I had one blade with me- for emergencies only. It was only in case I had an undeniable urge to cut, and it was uncontrollable. Other than that, I try my best not to cut at school. And if I do, it's always in the bathroom. I wait for everyone to leave first, though. I find cutting to be a personal thing. And some things aren't meant to do in random students presences. It just wouldn't be appropriate- leading down to the term 'common decency'.

Something that Thalia didn't have at all.

"Oh, hey," I said, remembering Percy. How could I have forgotten to bring this up? Must be all the talk about the she devil and her demon spawns. "I bumped into your cousin this morning- when you didn't pick me up!"

She sighed. "Again with this? Look, I already told you that my car broken down."

"And yet it started just in time for you to make it school without a tardy." I huffed with faux enthusiasm. "Perfect."

She rolled her electrifying blue eyes, as we made it to our lockers. She immediately began to pile books inside with ease, only glancing back at me to speak. "So you say you ran into my cousin? Cool. He didn't scare you too much, did he?"

I laughed, but I recognized the truth ringing behind her words. Percy did scare me a little.

"Nope," I unloaded my book bag. Thalia and my locker were right next to each other. It had been the main reason why we became such close friends. Every day we exchanged small talk with each other, until the conversation led to my annoying family, and then Thalia started talking about her irritating household. Then it just continued on from there. "Well, he was kind of dark, but not to the point where I hurled myself out of his car."

"So, what else did you guys _do_?" She wiggled her eyebrows meaningfully, but her mouth was set in a permanent line.

I blushed at her assumption, breaking all eye contact with her. "Absolutely nothing!"

"The blush on your face doesn't lie," she pointed out, but her eyes turned dark and stormy. "You know you two can't be together, right? He's messed up in every sense of the word. Plus, you're sixteen. He's nineteen and starting college soon. He's way too old for you."

I was a little too disappointed for my own good. But just like how easily I could read Thalia, she could too. She placed a firm hand on my shoulder, shaking me slightly. "Annabeth, this is for your own good. Get him out of your head."

I swatted her hand away, scowling scornfully. "He never was in my head. It was just a car ride, Thals. Nothing more happened, and nothing more will."

Little did I know how wrong I was.

. . .

"Most people think that snow just falls in boring, plain balls of snow. When in reality- every snow flake is different and unique. Not one speck or piece of snow is the same." I exclaimed to the brunette and blonde airheads in front of me, Drew and Juliette.

Drew munched on her gum obnoxiously, hanging onto every word I said, (probably to humiliate me some more) while her sister Juliette typed on her phone. I didn't comment on that. If I corrected them it would just lead to some more bullying and insults.

"So, what do you guys think?"

Juliette finally glanced up, her blue eyes roaming around the room, her knowledge obviously absent. "What do I think about what?"

I sigh, blowing a strand of hair which was hanging perfectly in front of my eye. Could this day get any better? Well, the good thing was that if I was rock bottom, there was only one place to go. Up.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the answer for everything.

"You know," I glance around the gym earnestly. I really shouldn't have signed up to be on the dance committee. "The school dance- prom? Winter as a theme. We could make the snow flakes and have it rain down on everyone."

Drew arched her eyebrows and I internally grimaced. Here it comes. "Snowflakes? Really, Annabelle? Do you know how long it takes to do my hair in the morning, let alone a special occasion? Oh, wait. You don't know because it looks like you haven't touched your hair since the nineteenth century. So, here's a hint. I. Do. Not. Want. Stupid. Snow. Screwing. With. My. Hair. Got it, slut?"

I bit my lip, so roughly that I was sure it would break through the surface. My hand slid down into my jeans, fingers tapping absently mindedly on my razor. I hadn't cut before here, but there was a first time for everything right? "Got it."

"Good," Juliette chirped in, shoving my box full of ideas back at me. Looks like all of her intelligence went to her arms, because she sure was stronger than I would imagine. "Now figure out something else, biatch. You don't mind me calling you that, do you?"

I shook my head, signaling a no. It was easier- better not to fight back. I began to rock back on my heels, desperate to cut. But I couldn't. Not in front of all these people. "I don't mind, Juliette."

"God, why don't you do us all a favor and kill yourself already?" She sneered. "It's not like anyone would miss you."

She was right.

Drew rolled her eyes. "You are so pathetic, Annabelle."

They stormed away from me, their high heels clicking against the gym floor, but the clicks sounded like a gunshot to my ears. They were gone already, but I managed to whisper, "I know."

Then I'm gone.

. . .

I had handled all of this- mean girls, bullies, abusive stepmothers and stepsisters, neglecting fathers, death, cutting, and depression. All at the same time. Not, scratch that first line out. I was still handling all of this. I had always thought that one by one all of my problems would slowly disappear, but so far, that hasn't happened.

Drew and Silena were still cruel as ever to me.

Helen still abused me- verbally and physically.

Mattie and Barbara still emotionally scarred me with their taunting and punishable ways.

Fredrick still ignored me, as if I wasn't even existent.

The pain of my mom dying was still as fresh and painful on the day that she died.

I still sliced into my flesh.

I was still wallowing in sadness from my life, never going to get out. I was trapped in an inescapable, endless hole of misery. **(A/N: Isn't she just Miss Sunshine?)**

I don't run to the girl's restroom. Too many females passing through; checking their makeup and fixing their burnt hair. Plus, the stalls around the toilets are so flimsy, with many cracks that someone could easily see through, even unintentionally.

Tears began to stream down my face as I shoved people out of the way. All I wanted to do was die. Every time I hear that somebody has passed that I knew I always think, 'why couldn't it have been me? I don't value life, anyways.'

Why couldn't I just kill myself and get it over with?

I yanked open the door to the girl's locker room, the first doorway that I saw, and shut it tightly behind me. Sobs forced their way up into my throat and I let loose a couple. My arms were trembling as I leaned over and flipped the latch over so no one would walk in on what I was about to do.

I glanced around, brushing the tears away.

I never had the nerve to do it, but those words from Juliette and Drew seemed to be my breaking point. I had many triggers throughout the day, but nothing like this. I dug through my bag and grasped my razor tightly.

I was seeing black as I gently pressed it into my pale skin.

I let out a slight gasp as out of the blackness of my vision a circle of red appeared. I leant against the locker, shutting my eyes as the adrenaline settled over me.

I raised the blade again. Someone slapped it out of my hand, and I looked up to find those same hollow eyes that I had seen this morning and in my dreams.

It was Percy Jackson.

I swallowed as I watched it skid against the floor and crash into the bottle of the locker room lockers.

"What the hell?" He snarled, shaking my shoulders roughly. "Don't you ever do that again. Do you know how much you fucking scared me?"

My grey eyes were wide with shock as he desperately tried to get something out of me, yet all that came out of my mouth was; "why are you in the girl's locker room?"

He scowled at my response, grabbing my newly bloody wrist, examining it. "Should've known you would do something like this, with all the shit that people give you."

"How do you know about that?" I questioned, trying to pry my arm from his rough hands with no success. "Are you stalking me or something?"

He ignored me, examining my wrist with urgent care.

I asked again, "why are you in the girl's locker room?" My voice was laced with assimilations. His head tilted upward and our eyes met and I felt heated electricity swimming in between them. And to my surprise, his serious expression evaporated and I was met with a sly grin. "Don't flatter yourself, Annabeth. I saw a help wanted sign when I drove you to school. I'm not the fondest of gym, but I was short on money. I was already in here when you walked in."

There were too many holes in his story. He was lying, just as he had before.

He had merely followed me, but why? Was he crazy? That was certainly the viewpoint I had gotten from him when we had 'accidently' bumped into one another. Only this time, I wasn't letting it go.

"You're lying," I spat out, finally tugging free of him. I glanced down at my arm to see a bandage placed on my wrist- when did that happen? I dismissed it as Percy stuffed a band aid wrapper into his jean pocket. "You were lying in the car, too. What are you- crazy?"

He began to laugh, and I glowered at him, slowly backing away. "Ha. Coming from the girl who had just tried to commit suicide moments ago."

I crossed my arms tightly against my chest, despite my throbbing wrist. "I wasn't going to."

"I know."

"And how would you possibly know that?" I countered cleverly.

"Because," he stated. "If you were really, truly going to kill yourself, you would've sliced vertically not horizontally."

"Jerk." I sneered simply, hoisting my books into my undamaged hand. "And you better not tell anyone, either."

"Who am I going to tell in this shit hole of a place?"

I wasn't positive if he was talking about this school or the world.

* * *

**A/N: Don't say I didn't warn you. This is a dark story. Thank you all for reviews, though! Mean so much! Next update will be quicker, I promise. **


End file.
